


All That We Are is Who We Must Be

by left_and_write



Series: All That We Are [3]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Cute Kids, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Married Life, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), SnowBaz, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trilogy, Watford (Simon Snow), rainbow rowell, snowbaz kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 06:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19762882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/left_and_write/pseuds/left_and_write
Summary: {PREVIOUS FICS IN THE SERIES: ALL THAT WE ARE, IF YOU MUST. THIS IS THE FINAL FIC IN THE TRILOGY}Baz and Simon have been married for ten years. It's been ten years since Baz was kidnapped by the Enenra, ten years since they fought a giant, wyrm-like beast while saying their wedding vows. For ten years, they've enjoyed domestic bliss. They bought a house, adopted two kids, got jobs. They don't worry about what will attack them next, they worry about their oldest daughter's first year in school. And now it's Halloween-- probably the first one their five-year-old girl will be able to actually remember-- and they're going over to the Bunce's to celebrate. Enjoy the fairytale ending for the fairytale couple-- the ending we all know they deserve.





	1. Simon.

It's weird to be back at Watford. Even though I'm only 31, it feels like a lifetime ago that I was last here. Dancing with Baz at his Leaver's Ball, surrounded by gaping mages and fairy lights. Everything looks the same, but also completely different. It feels smaller, more disconnected; like I'm watching the hallways through a fishbowl. But it still feels safe, still feels like home. As long as I don't look at or go near the White Chapel. Every time I've tried I get this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and I have to rush for the nearest toilet. By now, nothing much comes up but bile that stings my throat.

I'm sitting on this uncomfortable high-backed chair outside of the headmistress's office. Penny's mum is still headmistress, and from what I can tell, she's doing wonderfully. She's made some major curriculum improvements, reinstated some of the old traditions (the good ones like memory books and the theatre programme, not the low-magic exclusionary ones), and, from what I hear, she's planning on introducing a new co-ed dorm (inspired by Penny's to-this-day-unexplained ability to get into the boy's dorms). I'm trying to convince her to pay Cook Pritchard extra for every sour cherry scone she makes, but so far she hasn't taken to the idea (no idea why).

Baz is in there with her, right now, which is why I'm incessantly tapping my feet and making a miniature fireworks display of nervous golden sparks. They've been in there for ages. Should it be taking this long? Why would it take this long-- Penny's mum already knows Baz, already likes him. Penny is our daughters' godmother, for Crowley's sake. This should _not_ be taking this long.

At long last, the door opens. Baz steps outside, grinning and shaking professor Bunce's hand.

"Thank you very much, Mitali," he's saying. My heart leaps-- their conversation must've gone well, then. "It's been a pleasure, as always."

Professor Bunce smiles back at Baz.

"You're very welcome, Basil. Are you and the girls still coming round for tea next week?" Baz nods, a lock of hair coming loose from his short ponytail and drifting lazily across his forehead.

"Unless one of them manages to lick another trolley at the supermarket and explosively vomit for a week again, you can count on it."

Shaking my attention away from my husband's hair, I stand up, going over to join them. Penny's mum smiles at me (she's been more tolerant of my aptitude for disaster ever since Baz and I got married. I think she thinks he's a good influence on me)(is he, really?).

"Hello, Simon," She says jovially. I return the smile, linking hands with Baz.

"Hello, professor Bunce. How are things?" She waves away the question, giving a very Penny-like dramatic sigh.

"Oh, fine, fine. Priya's having her baby next month, Pip's off trying to break another arm on a skiing trip in America. So, the usual, I suppose." I laugh lightly.

"Well, give our luck to Priya. I dunno if there's any helping Pip," I reply. Mitali chuckles.

"Yes, well, you might very well be right about that, Simon." She glances at her watch, and her face gets that familiar, faraway look that always means she's got other work on her mind. "Well, I'll let you two be off. Congratulations, Basil. See you soon." We say our goodbyes, and she retreats back into her office.

As soon as the door closes, I turn to Baz, a grin on my face, my hands gripping his arms excitedly.

"Did you get the job?" I ask. Baz nods, the smile on his face absolutely luminous.

"I got it!" He replies, sounding like a kid in a candy shop. Laughing, I kiss him, pulling him close.

Miss Possibelf is retiring this year, and so Watford needs a new Magic Words teacher. Baz has been hoping for a job at Watford for the past five years, but until now, no position was open. He's been practising for this interview with me for the past month. It'll be strange not to ask him interview questions at dinner, using a funny voice to entertain the girls.

"Are we gonna tell Natasha and Lucy when we go pick them up?" I ask, pulling away. Baz nods, kissing my jaw.

"Yeah. And then, later, when they're sleeping over at Bunce and Micah's, we're going to celebrate," He murmurs teasingly. Laughing, I playfully push him away.

"Don't you dare talk sexy to me in front of the headmistress's office!" Baz scrunches up his nose, knocking up my chin.

"Aw, you're no fun, Si. All right then, let's go get the girls. We can continue this conversation later." Even after ten years of being married to him, that voice he uses when he's teasing me still sends shivers up my spine. Grinning, I take his hand, leading him towards the stairs that'll take us back to the grounds and the car.

"Let's go, you absolute wanker."


	2. Baz.

My heart is racing as we drive back to Cheltenham to pick up the girls from school, and the grin on my face doesn't fade.

_I got the job!_

I don't start until next year, but I couldn't be happier. I've got the most beautiful, amazing husband in the world, a great house, two sweet, clever, adorable daughters, and now my dream job. I feel like I could fight the moon and win.

We get back home just in time to get the girls, but even if we were late, it wouldn't matter. Simon and I have this down to a fucking _science_. We always pick up Lulu from daycare first, and we leave our car in the carpark there. Then we walk across the street to Tasha's school. We _absolutely_ _cannot_ drive there. It works this way because Lucy talks incessantly (only to us, though; she's very shy around anyone who's not family) and has a very specific routine she _has_ to do before getting into the car, or we'll enter 3-year-old-meltdown-time (she has to take off her shoes, say hello to the car, and then climb into her seat herself, which can take ten minutes on a good day). We can't pick up Natasha first, because she's a five-year-old socialite (in the funniest way possible. That girl might very well be the Queen of England some day; she's the most poised, graceful kid I've ever met). She inevitably strikes up a ridiculously regal conversation with one of her little friends that will reliably last twenty minutes, so if we were to pick her up first, we would be late to go get Lucy, and then we'd be back in 3-year-old-meltdown-time. (Aleister Crowley, it exhausts me just thinking about this).

So when we get back into town, we park at Lulu's school, then get out of the car to wait on a bench out front. The day is beautiful; October sunshine filtering down through the crimson leaves, dappling our skin in shadows. Simon's hand is warm in mine, and he's resting his head on my shoulder. The air is crisp, but not unpleasantly so; it's got that kind of sharp edge to it that makes you realise how miserably stifling and muggy summer was. A gentle breeze caresses our cheeks, ruffling our hair. It's all very serene and lovely.

"Baz, did we buy candy?" Yawns Simon unconcernedly. Today is Halloween, and something tells me there are two small girls who would be most upset by the lack of sweets.

"Yes, I bought some yesterday," I answer, tugging playfully on the ends of those ridiculous curls. He smiles at me, brushing a kiss against my chin.

"Did you get Aero Bars, too?" I nod.

"Got them. They're safely hidden from the children."

"You got the mint ones?" He asks suspiciously. I smirk at him.

"Yes, like the amazing husband I am, I got the Most Important Flavour."

With a comically solemn look on his face, Simon declares,

"Then tonight, we shall feast!" I laugh before leaning in close to him, pressing my lips to his ear.

"Mint Aero Bars aren't the only thing you'll feast on tonight," I purr. Groaning, Simon swats at my arm.

"Again, Basilton," he complains, trying and failing to hide the fact that he's laughing, "you choose the _worst_ locations for dirty talk." I grin deviantly at him, flashing him a wink.

"Come on, you know you love my poor location scouting skills," I tease. Grinning, Simon crosses his arms, those blue eyes sparkling mirthfully.

"Piss off, you-- Hi, pumpkin!" He breaks off from his insult, waving to someone over my shoulder. Looking up, I see Lulu walking towards us, a huge smile on her face. She's wearing a Tigger costume (because I really fucking love Winnie the Pooh), her little light up shoes peeking out from beneath it. Lucy sees us and starts to run, in that funny, loping way toddlers do.

"Bap! Minnie!" She exclaims, her pink backpack bouncing as she runs.

Neither of our children call us any variant of 'dad'. We adopted them when Natasha was two and Lucy was six months old (their biological parents were Mages from Egypt who were tragically killed while investigating curses inside the pyramids). Tasha had a bit of a speech impediment until she was about three, and I think that's where our titles stemmed from. She couldn't say her 'z' sounds very well, so I became 'Bap', but neither of us are very sure where she got 'Minnie' from. I'm personally fond of our theory that it's a combination of 'mummy' and the last half of Simon's name. We tried to convince the girls to call us 'dad' or something similar, but I think they heard our names so often during the process of adopting them that it kind of stuck. Anyway, by the time Lucy was old enough to do more than gurgle, the nicknames had stuck and she picked them up, too. Part of me wonders if they'll call us 'dad' once they're older, but if I'm honest, the day that I'm no longer 'Bap' will be a sad one.

"Hello, love," I say to her as she gets to us. She holds out her arms to be held.

"Bap, can I hold you?" She asks (Lulu never asks to be picked up or held, it's always 'Bap, can I hold you?' or 'Minnie I wanna hold you!'). I pick her up, pulling her onto my lap.

"Hi, Lulu," says Simon, placing a kiss on her forehead. She wraps her chubby arms around Simon's neck.

"Where's your costume, Minnie?" Uh-oh. That little thundercloud that always means a tantrum is coming crosses her face. Simon smooths her hair, tucking it behind her tippy-out ears.

"We're going to put them on when we get home, silly girl. We have to go get your sister first."

"And if you're both good," I add, playfully poking her in the side and earning a giggle, "we can go get ice cream." The promise of costumes and ice cream seems to satisfy her, because her face clears again. Simon and I exchange a grateful look; tantrums are _not_ fun.

"Let's go get your sister, Lulu," Says Simon, lifting Lulu onto his lap before standing up. I grab her backpack and sling it over my shoulder.

We make our way across the street, the leaves on the ground muffling the sound of our footsteps. Simon sets Lulu down at her insistence, and we each hold one of her hands as she tromps through the leaves, occasionally swinging her. The walk isn't far, but it's so nice out I'm contemplating making the girls go for a longer walk with us. But I suppose we'll be able to do that when we take them trick-or-treating.

We arrive at Natasha's school, children bustling about in the schoolyard all around us. Lucy presses close to my leg, hiding her face like she always does when she's feeling shy. I pick her up, kissing her cheek before looking around for her older sister. Some of the other parents try to say hi, but I just flash them cordial smiles and let my (much friendlier) husband talk with them.

After a few minutes of scanning the crowd of sugar-crazed children (they're like a horde of ants, I swear), I finally find Natasha. She's talking with a few friends, a graceful, lazy smile on her sweet face. If it weren't for her ladybug costume, she'd fit right in at one of Dr. and Mrs. Wellbelove's posh parties.

"Tasha!" I call out to her, "Love, it's time to go home." She glances up at me, her face lighting up. With a quick goodbye to her friends, she runs over, grabbing my legs in a hug. Between the weight of Lulu in my arms and Tasha holding onto my legs, I nearly stumble, but a hand touches my shoulder, steadying me. Simon. I smile over my shoulder at him, and he leans in to kiss my cheek.

"Hello there, little bug!" He says to Tasha, tweaking her sparkly red antennae. She wrinkles her little nose at him.

"I'm not a bug!" She protests. Simon bends down so he's at her height.

"Oh yes? Then what are you, little bug?" He teases. I smile down at them as Lulu tugs my hair from its ponytail, playing with it (she calls it braiding, I call it knots).

"I'm a little girl, Minnie!" she insists. Simon huffs a fake sigh, smiling.

"Alright, alright, you're not a bug," He concedes playfully, picking her up. "Come on, you two, let's go get some ice cream."


	3. Simon.

As we drive home, I glance back at the girls. Their faces are sticky with the ice cream Baz and I missed while wiping their faces off, but they look immensely happy. Tasha got Oreo ice cream, and the white-grey colour of it stands out starkly against her skin (they both have the same rose-dark skin Baz had in that photo of him from before he was bitten). She and Lulu (whose face is covered in strawberry ice cream) are talking with their heads together, and I swear they're the cutest kids on this planet (maybe that's what all parents say, but I swear it's true). I try to listen in on their conversation, but all I can catch are nonsensical bits and pieces. The two of them often talk and act like they're twins, even though they're a year and a half apart, and half the time it sounds as if they've got their own made up language.

"Guess what, girlies?" I ask them, smiling.

"What?" Asks a very excited Lulu. I wink at them.

"You have to guess," I tease in a singsong voice.

" _Minnie_ , please tell us?" Pleads Tasha, her dark eyes big and round like a puppy's. She knows I can't resist that look (and the little bugger is teaching her sister to do it, too). I throw up my hands in mock surrender.

"All right, I suppose. But only because you said please. Guess what Bap and I did today?"

"You said no guessing!" Protests Tasha, giggling. I turn around to poke her knee, making her laugh harder.

"We went up to our old school-- do you remember the school in mine and Bap's stories?" I ask. Tasha nods enthusiastically, her dark hair bouncing, but Lulu's face is more unsure, like she's only nodding because her sister is. That's alright, she's only three. I _suppose_ I can forgive my three year old for not having a fully developed brain.

"What did you do there, Minnie?" Tasha asks. I grin at them.

"Well, you're going to have to start calling Bap 'professor', because he got a new job there! Isn't that exciting?" Tasha's dark brown eyes light up.

"Can we visit him there?" She asks excitedly. I nod.

"Yes we can, sweet girl."

"Minnie, what's a 'fressor?" Asks Lulu. She's a ridiculously smart kid (well, they both are; Tasha could do addition before she was finished with daycare), but, like I said, she's three.

"It's like a teacher, love. He's going to teach Magic to people-- and someday, he'll teach you, too!" Understanding dawns on her little face.

"Ohhh! Bap! Bap!" She says. Baz glances back at her in the mirror.

"Yes, Lovely Lulu?" He asks.

"What're you gonna teach?"

"I'll be teaching spells-- like your and your sister's favourites; _count your chickens_ and _damp squid_." I laugh at his example choices. _**Count your chickens**_ , if done wrong (on accident or on purpose), can make about a truckload of baby chicks fill the room. And Baz actually invented _**damp squid**_ ; the spell was originally 'damp squib' to make my boss's car stop working (long story short, I wanted to skive off, but didn't want to call in sick), but Baz had a bit of a head cold, so it came out more like 'damp squid'. It made a large, slimy squid appear out of thin air. The girls think it's fucking _hilarious_ (it really is).

"Bap, will you teach us a spell when we get home?" Asks Tasha. They both know it's no good to ask me to teach them magic; mine doesn't require wandwork or spell casting. I just sort of... _think_. And that somehow makes shit happen. That doesn't exactly lend me to teaching opportunities.

"All right, my Talented Tasha, but only one. Then Minnie and I have to get ready for Halloween at the Bunces'."

"Two spells?" She wheedles. Baz grins, flashing those needlepoint canines.

"Okay, _two_ spells."

The conversation lapses into comfortable silence. Baz reaches over and takes my hand, and I squeeze his fingers. I'm still not sure what I did to deserve all this; the best husband in the world, a beautiful house in the countryside, and two beautiful daughters to share it all with. I couldn't be happier.

After a few moments, I glance back again.

"So, Tasha, how was school today?" I ask cautiously. It's her first year, and even though she seems to have a group of friends (fellow five year old socialites), I'm not a huge fan of a lot of them. They're not very nice to Tasha, and they're fair-weather friends if ever I saw them. I want her to settle in with a best friend, maybe hit her stride a little bit better. She's gotten off to a bit of a rough start.

Sure enough, her sweet face is downcast, hair covering her expression.

"It was okay," She says. "Freya wanted me to come play with her, but Abigail got mad and wouldn't let me." I exchange a look with Baz.

"What happened, love?" He asks.

"They started yelling at each other and then Mrs. McLoughlan put them both in the time-out areas. Freya was just mad that Abigail doesn't let me play with her anymore, and Abigail was just mad that I wanted to play with someone else." Baz pulls into our garage as she's finishing her story. Which is good, because her pink lower lip is trembling and her eyes are bright.

After exchanging a look, Baz and I get hastily out of the car. He extracts a sleeping Lulu from her carseat, I go round to Tasha and wrap my arms around her.

"Did you want to play with Freya?" I ask, pulling away to wipe at her tearstained cheeks. Tasha nods.

"You said Abigail won't let you play with anyone else?" Asks Baz, stepping back into the garage. He must've put Lucy down on the couch to nap (though we should probably wake her soon, or she'll be awake all night). He joins me next to Tasha, who shakes her head in answer to his question. "Why don't you tell Abigail that you can play with who you want to play with? You are your own person, Tash. No one else gets to tell you what you can and cannot do, okay?" She nods, sniffling.

"But what if she doesn't listen?" I tug gently at the ends of her hair, getting a smile.

"I give you permission to whack her across the head if she won't stop being mean," I tell her, not quite sure if I'm sincere or joking. "That always worked for me as a kid." Honestly, it might be the only cure for Abigail. She's been (and I still don't like to call anyone a bitch, but) a bitch to Natasha ever since she started school. Even in the first two months of year one, Abigail has already sent Natasha home in tears somewhere around six times. But we can't seem to shake her, no matter what we tell Tasha's teachers. They won't do anything to stop her (and it's pissing me the fuck off).

Baz raises an eyebrow at me at my suggestion, but then seems to mull through my answer.

"Si, you can't encourage our five year old to fight," He says softly. I can tell by his face he agrees with me, though.

"Nothing else is working, Baz," I reply, just as quietly. He looks conflicted for a moment, but soon gives in.

"I suppose you're right. But Tasha, you are only to do that if you _absolutely_ have to. Okay?" Tasha just nods again, looking a bit more cheerful.

"Okay, Bap. Okay, Minnie."

We pull her into a double-sided hug, my hands smoothing her hair, Baz's wiping her tears.

"Come on, sweet girl, let's go get in our Halloween costumes, yeah? You can even help Bap and I do our makeup," I tell her. Her face lights up as she looks at Baz and I.

"You promise?"

"I promise."


	4. Baz.

Simon quickly Magics up some popcorn for poor Tasha before joining me in our room to get changed. As he closes the door, he shouts something to her in rapid-fire French (in an effort to raise bilingual kids, I taught Simon French; we switch back and forth between the two languages while talking to the girls), but I'm too distracted by how nice his ass looks in the jeans he's wearing to catch what he's saying. I think I finally understand his obsession with jeans... I never quite got it, before, but now I'm starting to.

Leaning against the closed door, he grins at me. I sit up, eyes traveling back to his face.

"What?" he asks. I stand up. The smirk on his face doesn't falter.

"What do you mean, what?" I bounce back. Those blue eyes sparkle impishly as I take a step towards him, crossing my arms.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" I'm closer to him now, and I can smell him. He smells like leaves and pumpkin spice and candied apples; I want to bury my face in his neck and breathe it in.

"Like what?" I ask, reaching out for his hand. Simon closes the distance between us, brushing his fingers over my chin instead of taking my hand.

"Basilton, were you staring at my ass?" A slow grin spreads across my lips as I catch his hand in mine.

"There is a definite possibility that that was what I was doing, yes," I tease, leaning in to kiss my favourite mole on his neck. Simon presses his mouth to my ear, his voice a low, sultry whisper.

"Baz," He says. I nod, brushing my lips over the mole.

"Yes?"

"We need to get dressed." And just like that, to my chagrin, he slips out of my arms and walks through the bathroom and into the closet, leaving me with my mouth hanging open in indignation. The bastard even has the nerve to laugh.

" _What_?" I exclaim, walking over to the closet. Simon shuts the door, and I hear the lock click. The literal bastard. " _Simon_! I can flirt with you in our _bedroom_ , you knob! Now you're just being mean!"

"I know!" He replies cheerily over the rustle of clothing. I sink down on the edge of the tub, pouting (if I had 1p for every time I've pouted over Simon in my lifetime...).

"I _am_ a vampire, you know," I tell him, crossing my legs and waving my wand about lazily in the air.

"I'm aware of that, yes." I spell dry snow into the air, watching it disappear as it nears the cold tile of the floor.

"I could break down the door and eat you," I say blandly. Simon laughs.

"Yep. I'm sure you could." I make a rainbow snake through the room, bending it into ridiculous shapes.

"Then I could eat your children."

"Oh heavens no, not the children," Simon deadpans.

" _Simon_ ," I whine. With a short flick of my wand and a **_Do the Hokey Pokey_** spell, I send an invisible finger through the door to poke him in the ribs. A grin of triumph tugs at my lips when I hear him yelp in surprise.

The triumph fades when a wave of golden magic comes bursting through the closed door and engulfs me, feeling like a million tiny hands tickling me. Note to self; never poke the most powerful Mage our world has ever seen.

I'm doubled over, laughing, trying to fend off whatever spell he's set upon me.

"Okay, okay, truce!" I gasp out.

"Promise not to poke me again?" He's teasing me. I can practically hear the little shit smiling.

"Nope," I reply.

"Will you leave me be if I give you a kiss?"

"Yep."

The door opens, revealing a (regrettably) fully-clothed Simon. Sure enough, he's smirking at me as I take in his costume (sometimes I regret teaching him to properly smirk). He's wearing this dark crimson suit, and he's spelled wings onto his back again. They're still dragon wings, but they're different enough from his last pair that I can look at them without shuddering. He looks stunning.

"How do I look? I'll let Tasha do my makeup after you get dressed." He spreads his arms and turns in a circle, letting me see the whole thing.

I raise one eyebrow at him, crossing my arms.

"You promised me a kiss, Simon," I say petulantly. Simon copies my pose, eyes traveling around the room.

"Why is it snowing, and why is there a rainbow?" He asks, ignoring my request. I look around, grinning.

"I got bored. See what happens when you ignore me?" Simon stares me down, still smiling.

"Fine. You may kiss my cheek, Basilton, and then you have to get dressed so we can go to Penny's."

I groan dramatically. Simon is too persistent with this little game of his, and I know he's only doing it to drive me postal. I thought _I_ was the plotting, evil one in this relationship?

" _Fine_ ," I concede, standing up. "But the minute the children are out of the house--" Simon pulls me forward, silencing me with a short, chaste kiss on the lips ( _finally_ ).

"My cheek, if you will," he orders pompously. I lean forward, brushing my lips against his soft cheek.

"I'll go get dressed," I whisper, "But only because the sooner we get there, the sooner we can come back."

With that, I go into the closet, not bothering with the door (I'm not as evil as Simon, contrary to popular belief). Quick as I can, I change into my vampire costume (Natasha picked it out, and she nearly shit herself laughing while doing so. She's Simon's daughter, through and through)(Both girls think it's the coolest thing ever that I'm a vampire, and they've started treating any Normal vampire portrayals like the funniest jokes in the world, which is why Tasha finds my costume so hilarious). Once I'm dressed, I slick back my hair so my widow's point hairline is sharper than ever, then relax my jaw, allowing my fangs to slide into place. It feels weird, having them out like this, but better this than those awful-tasting plastic ones Normals use.

When I'm done, Simon calls for Tasha, who sits us both down on the edge of the tub and starts doing our makeup (which, for the work of a five year old, really isn't half bad). She paints red scales onto Simon's cheeks, and does a trickle of fake blood down from my lower lip. As she works, I inch my hand over to Simon, who, to my immense relief, takes it. Looks like his game does not extend to hand-holding.

Tasha deems us pretty enough, and I quickly dab polka dots onto her cheeks to match her costume. Lulu's skin is too sensitive for the makeup, so we just wake her from her nap to take her out to the car. I grab their little trick-or-treat buckets and their overnight bags, stuffing them into the boot of the car. And then we're off again, on our way to Penny and Micah's house.

All I want to do is to get this over with so I can kiss my sonofabitch husband.


	5. Penelope.

I'm not going to lie. I really love babysitting Simon and Baz's kids. They're so well behaved, and so _quiet_. My two kids could take a leaf out of their book.

Micah and I lived in America for five years after we got married, leaving when our oldest, Eavan, was three (she's seven now). She's always been strong-willed (gee, I wonder who she gets _that_ from), but I think the move across the ocean cemented it in her. A year after moving to the same town Simon and Baz live in, we had our son, Kieran, who's less headstrong than his sister, but still quite opinionated for someone so small. I think he'll take after Micah more, though, when he gets past the want to imitate his sister.

Micah and I pick up the kids from their schools down the street from the Normal university we work at, get them dressed, and clean the house, all in the span of two hours. By the time Baz and Simon knock on our door, I've donned an orange and black jack-o-lantern dress, Micah's got on his all-black cat outfit (he was upset that only women ever go as 'sexy cats', and decided to break down the wall), Eavan's donned her witch outfit (which she thinks is hilariously funny), and little Kieran's finally got the sheet he's using for his ghost costume on straight. With one last appraising glance around what was a pigsty of a sitting room three hours ago, I make my way to the door to let our friends in.

The grinning Grimm-Pitch family enters our home, with hugs and kisses all around. I burst into a fit of giggles at Baz's ridiculous vampire outfit. He grins devilishly at me, flashing those needle-sharp fangs.

"What are you laughing at, Bunce?" He teases, his voice sounding full and slightly slurred through his teeth. I clutch my sides, trying desperately to stop laughing. Kieran is starting to throw me concerned looks (his sheet has slid off his head again) from where he and little Lucy play across the room.

"Your _costume_ , Basil!" I snicker. Natasha smiles brightly up at me, letting go of Simon's hand to tug on mine.

"Auntie Penny, _I_ picked it out!" She says proudly. I bend down so I'm at her height, tucking her dark hair behind her ears.

"You did a great job, kiddo. Your daddy looks _wonderful._ " She opens her mouth to say something in reply, but Eavan comes down the stairs from her room to see what all the commotion's about, and Natasha's dark eyes focus on her, lighting up. She and Eavie have always been close, even though they're two years apart. Honestly, I think Tasha is the only person I've seen my daughter listen to, aside from Micah and I.

"Hi, Eavie!" Calls the little girl at my side. A huge smile brightens Eavie's face through her green face-paint.

"Hi, Tasha! I like your costume!" Tasha's round face goes pink, her smile widening with delight.

"Thank you. I like yours too-- are you a Normal witch?" Eavie nods happily, looking down at her outfit.

"Yeah!" Natasha walks over to her, and the two walk back up the stairs to Eavie's room, chatting happily. I turn back to Simon and Baz, who look like they're having some kind of staring contest with one another. Crossing my arms, I raise an eyebrow.

"Boys, I thought we decided a decade ago that you're not allowed to have eye-sex within twenty feet of me?" I tease, making sure to keep my voice low enough to keep the three-year-olds from hearing me. Simon's golden face goes pink, looking comically like his daughter's expression from a few moments before (you would never know the four of them aren't blood related, they all look so much like one another). Baz just smirks at me, looking away from his husband.

"Really, Bunce, you ought to be used to it by now," he deadpans in reply. I roll my eyes and heave a sigh.

"That rule has lasted this long, and it'll last till the earth inevitably is swallowed by the sun. Or until Simon accidentally opens another world-hole and kills us all."

"Hey! Leave me and my sneezes out of your argument!" Simon warns with mock incredulity. I grin at him, reaching up to ruffle his red glitter-dusted curls.

"Not this time, Chosen One, you're just as guilty as he is." Simon rolls his eyes at me, attempting to hide his smile.

"How _ever_ can I make it up to you?" He asks sarcastically. I grin, gesturing to the kitchen behind me.

"By helping cook dinner?" Simon finally breaks, starting to laugh.

"I suppose so, if I must."


	6. Micah.

Simon makes a delicious dinner appear from thin air, followed by an amazing cake made by Penny. Once we're done eating, we all line up in front of the fireplace to take a few photos (I make photo albums every year). Penelope equips Eavie and Kier with little plastic buckets for sweets, then gives all the kids glow sticks so they'll be easier to see in the dark. I have to break up the argument between Kieran and Lucy over who gets the pink one, tapping the stick with my wand and duplicating it so they both can have one. Simon and Baz bring Lucy and Natasha's overnight bags in from their car, and as they bring them upstairs, I watch Penny as she fixes up Kieren's costume, pinning it in place. She looks really nice in that orange dress, and I can't help but stare a little.

"Pen," I say, nudging her leg with my toe. She turns to face me, a smile tugging up one corner of her lips.

"Yeah?" She asks. I stand up, pulling her close, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"You look nice," I murmur. My wife smiles, tilting up her chin to kiss me properly.

"So do you," She replies softly. I smile, kissing her chin, running my fingers slowly along her back.

"I look like a crazy cat person. You look lovely." Penny laughs, pushing me playfully away.

"I look like a pumpkin!" She contests. Grinning, I tug at the hem of her dress, pulling her close again.

"Like an _adorable_ pumpkin," I reply. Penny kisses me again, brushing her thumb along my cheekbone.

"You're ridiculous." I smile lovingly against her lips, ignoring Kieran's complaint of, ' _ewwwww, mummy, daddy, gross!_ '.

"So are you."


	7. Simon.

Micah and I take the kids out trick-or treating, leaving Penny and Baz to mind the door and the bowl of sweets. Once their plastic buckets are full, and Lulu starts to cry because her feet hurt, and _Kieran_ starts to cry because _Lulu's_ crying, we decide it's time to take them back. When we do, Baz and I kiss Tasha and Lulu goodnight, make them promise to be good for their godparents, and take their sweets out to the car with us with the promise to keep them safe until they get home. And then we're back in the car, Baz's hands loosely gripping the steering wheel.

In the half-darkness of the car, he really does look like a Normal vampire. I shrink my wings with half a thought before reaching over to tug on the ends of his hair. It's so black it's darker than the clouded night sky outside. _Basilton, you've got a void attached to your head_.

"You can let your fangs back in, Baz," I say softly. Baz clenches his jaw in the way that he does when he's getting rid of his fangs.

"Thanks," He replies. We pull into the garage, deciding to leave our stuff in the car until morning. It's cold enough outside that none of the girls' candy will melt. I follow Baz to the door that'll let us inside the house. Without the girls, the place feels almost too quiet.

 _I'm_ only quiet because I'm trying to decide on the best way to snog my husband (I have too many good options). My imagination goes wild, thinking of all the ways I could take him right here, right now. I think Baz realises this, because he smirks knowingly at me and saunters over to the couch, purposefully swinging his hips as he goes. Aleister Crowley, I love his ass in jeans...

Baz sits down, turning on the television to see what's on. BBC's playing an old silent movie about a vampire-- _Nosferatu_. Draping his arm across the back of the couch, Baz gracefully reclines there, watching the movie.

My plan falls into place. I know how I'm gonna do it (well, _him_ ).

As nonchalantly as I can manage (which isn't very), I walk over and slide behind him on the couch. At first, I prop my chin on his shoulder, fingers trailing across his back as I pretend to be interested in the film. A few minutes later, I (sneakily) pull his hair away from his neck, pressing my lips to the soft grey skin there. I feel a small shiver run up Baz's spine, making me smile as I work my lips down to the collar of the back of his shirt. Inch by inch, I pull the fabric away, kissing over to his shoulder. A satisfying, soft sigh escapes his lips as I do, which I take as an invitation to continue. Wrapping my arms around Baz's waist, I tug up on his shirt, exposing his stomach and lower back.

"Lift your arms," I murmur, pressing my lips to his ear. Baz grins, doing as I ask. Slowly, I pull the shirt over his head, my lips following its progress along his smooth skin. Gooseflesh rises on his arms and I smirk at him.

"Cold?" I tease.

"A bit." He knows what I'm playing at. I drift back down to the base of his neck, leaving a mark there, letting my teeth graze the skin.

"I can fix that for you," I whisper. Baz grins, showing all those deadly teeth. Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like if he bit me. I bite him, instead, softly, my teeth tugging at his earlobe.

"Oh, so you're allowing flirtation now?" He teases. I push my fingers through his slicked-back hair, messing it up.

"Kids aren't home," I press a kiss to the point of his widow's peak hairline, "The rules are different." Baz shifts in his seat so he's facing me, his hands on my chest. My skin heats up where he touches me, and I don't want him to stop. Leaning forward, Baz kisses my jaw.

"Okay then, Simon fix me right up. Only not on the couch. I may have a habit of marrying scruffy-looking supermages, but I still have _some_ standards." I laugh, brushing my lips against his ever so slightly.

"Who are you calling scruffy-looking?" If there's one thing I love about Baz, it's that he's the biggest fucking _Star Wars_ fan I've ever met (okay, I'm maybe a _very_ close second).

I waste no time in grabbing his hand, pulling him through the living room in the direction of our room. Halfway there, his lips collide with mine, hungry and demanding and all-consuming. Then my back connects with the wall outside the bedroom, and Baz is pinning me there, kissing me like it's the end of the world, his mouth hot and wet and needy against mine.

"What do you want, Chosen One?" He murmurs. I'm reminded, for a moment, of when he was missing in Eighth year. A dryad in the Wavering Wood (honestly, _fuck_ the Wavering Wood) said similar words to me (what do you _seek,_ Chosen One?) when I asked her where Baz was. Baz is here now, pressing against me, kissing me vehemently with one hand in my hair and the other on my stomach.

" _You_ ," I reply without hesitation, "Aleister Crowley, _you_."


	8. Baz.

Simon still has the ability to take the very air from my lungs.

The feeling of his skin, hot and slick against mine as he moves against me; those little sounds he makes when I touch him; the way his face scrunches up as his hands grip my hair, pulling me closer, closer; His face above mine before his needy red mouth comes crashing against mine; the way he says my name, both with and without Magic, his voice out-of-breath and lower than usual. Simon Grimm-Pitch is perfectly exquisite.

I kiss every inch of that soft golden skin, connecting the dots of his moles. He is a golden sky full of bronze constellations. Does that make me the moon, contrasted perfectly against him? His body is heavy on mine just as I imagine the sky must be heavy on the moon; draped across it like a magnificent spangled cape.

"Simon..." I say, and my voice fights to be heard between heavy breaths.

"Baz?" He asks, just as breathless.

"I love you." A quick, euphoric smile. Cut off by a small noise, a scrunch of the nose, that sends a thrill through me.

"I love you too."


	9. Simon.

Baz kisses me awake. His chest is warm and solid against my back, his hands soft as they trail over my skin. I grin sleepily as those lips continue to explore the back of my neck.

"Morning," I murmur. He feels so nice...

"Morning, Simon," He replies, his voice still gravelly with sleep. _Aleister Crowley_ it's sexy.

I like everything about Morning Baz. The black curtain of wavy hair spread across the pillow. Heavy-lidded grey eyes that shine, nearly iridescent, like mother-of-pearl in the syrupy morning sunshine. His voice, gravelly and deep and slow. The weight of his arm around my waist. The list in my head is never-ending.

I turn in his arms so we're chest to chest, nuzzling my nose into the crook of his neck. I like the way he smells there; like bergamot and cedar and something else-- something that's entirely his own-- that I can't name. I let my teeth lazily brush the skin there, sending a satisfying shiver through him. Long, thin fingers push gently through my tangled hair.

"What time do we need to pick up the girls?" I ask in a soft voice against his neck. Baz presses closer to me, trailing a hand down my chest.

"Noon... ish. Later. Whenever." His voice is a throaty whisper. Grey eyes flutter half-shut behind long lashes. Grinning impishly, I trail my lips down his throat, taking my time.

"Do you want breakfast?" I'm teasing him, and he damn well knows it. A frustrated sort of whine escapes him as I nip at a new place on his neck (Baz gets jealous when I do this, and I love it)(I wonder if there's a way to spell his teeth non-toxic...).

"Maybe later," He murmurs, his fingers cold against my hips.

"A shower?" I ask. Pearl grey eyes meet my own, a quiet determination shining behind them.

" _Yes_. But first, Simon Grimm-Pitch..." A small, barely audible gasp cuts him off as I press close to him, kissing his collarbone.

"But first what, darling?" I tease. He lets his eyes flicker shut again, not looking at me when he says,

"But first... finish what you've started."


	10. Baz.

When Simon was nothing more than my unattainable, ultra-powerful, tantalizing-gay-crush roommate, listening to him take showers was my own personal hell. And I wouldn't even really _hear_ anything-- just the water hitting him, his soft humming, the hiss of steam... Only ever just enough to drive my imagination wild. More often than not, I would leave the room, just to get away from it. From him.

Now that I have him all to myself, Simon's showers have turned from personal hell to personal paradise. My imagination doesn't have to run wild, filling in gaps, because there are no gaps to fill in. I've said it before, and I'll say it once more: I'm living a charmed life.

Simon and I use up all the hot water.

Afterwards, I wander around the kitchen in my robe, warming up scones and making tea for (a very, very late) breakfast, my shower-wavy hair falling into my face annoyingly whenever I lean forward. Simon's sitting at the table in nothing but his pants, watching me with a funny little smirk on those red lips.

"You're looking incredibly smug, Simon," I inform him, bringing over a plate of scones and a great slab of butter for my pig of a husband (I say that in the most loving way possible). Simon captures my wrists in his hands, leaning forward until his mouth is mere centimetres from mine.

"Just thinking about you..." He says, voice low and sultry, closing the distance between our mouths and nipping at my lower lip with impossibly white teeth. I've often wondered how the fuck he keeps them so blindingly white. Maybe it's all that magic, scaring the plaque off: Simon Grimm-Pitch, formerly The Great Simon Snow, ex-supervillain, dentistry wonder?

"What about me?" I ask, mimicking his tone. Simon, to my immense annoyance, pulls away, reaching around me for a scone and a butter knife. He's eaten scones for breakfast for so long that he can butter them without even looking; those blue eyes never leave my own, staring me down with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. Even when he chews and swallows (Adam's apple bobbing gloriously) a great mouthful of the pastry, Simon doesn't look away. Not when he sets down what's left of his scone, not when he wipes his hands on a napkin, not when he leans towards me. Blue eyes bore into my soul, filling me up like a warm, fiery potion.

When he pulls me in by the collar of my robe and kisses me, I practically swoon. His mouth tastes like sour cherry scones (a flavour one must become accustomed to when planning to kiss Simon on a long-term basis) and it's hot against mine and it makes me forget, for a moment, that we have to pick up our children in... oh who fucking cares how soon? They've got their whole lives ahead of them, they have all the time in the world to wait for their dads to finish snogging. And I know full well that Bunce is sitting there, glancing at her watch every five minutes and just _knowing_ , in that way that she knows everything, what we're doing as we force our poor children to wait for us.

"I was thinking about your mouth," Simon murmurs, one hand slipping inside my robe and pressing flat against my stomach. A small whine escapes me at the touch, and even though we've only been out of the shower for a quarter of an hour, I want him as if I've never had him before.

"Oh yes?" I reply, egging him on. The bastard starts running the pad of his thumb along the bottom of my ribcage, setting every nerve on fire in the best way possible. "What about my mouth?"

Simon pulls me into his lap, his hands tugging at me hungrily as he whispers,

"Everything. _Everything_."


	11. Simon.

The warm sunshine of yesterday has been replaced by buckets of icy rain and a cold, hard wind. After breakfast, Baz and I bundle up to go get our girls, bringing along coats and scarves for them. One glance out the rain-warped windows of our sitting room makes me glad we decided to park the car in the garage.

We get into the car and drive over to Penny's, Baz holding my hand in his the whole way there. I lift it to my lips, kissing his knuckles idly.

"Crowley, Simon, maybe we should get the Bunces to watch the kids more often," Baz teases. I grin.

"Careful, or they'll be confused about who their parents are. Besides, can it wait a week? Anytime sooner and I don't think I'll be able to walk for a month." Baz bursts out laughing in a way he seldom does (don't get me wrong, Baz laughs; but never great bursts of long-lasting giggles like this).

"The _mouth_ on you, Simon, Aleister Crowley. What are you grinning at me for, now?" I hadn't realized I was, but a smile has spread across my face as I look at him. Reaching over, I tuck his still-wavy hair (humidity does the _best_ things to his hair) behind his ear before leaning over to kiss his cheek.

"I like it when you laugh, that's all," I reply, pulling away. Baz smiles at me, and it's a soft, happy smile. I wish I had a camera on me to capture that look.

Then I realise I have an endless supply of magic just behind my fingertips. Quickly, before that smile can fade, I will my magic to capture the moment, to copy it down onto paper, to set the magically-printed photograph in my pocket. I feel the slight weight of it settling down, but don't pull it out. I'll show it to Baz later.

We get to Micah and Penny's, grabbing an umbrella from the backseat of the car for the short walk to the door (we'd be soaked to the bone in seconds without it). I make a thin, magical barrier around the parts of us that aren't covered by the brolly, blocking us from the wind and the sideways rain.

Penelope opens the door, still in her pyjamas but with a bright, alert look on her face that tells me she's been awake for hours. She's looking at us with an expression that says ' _I know what you did last night_ ' as plainly as if she's spoken the words aloud. Baz must see it, too, because a smirk tugs at his lips.

"Hi, Penny," I say cheerfully, feeling my cheeks redden.

"Hello, Bunce," says an amusingly unabashed Baz. Penny rolls her eyes at us, grinning.

"Hello, boys," She replies, pulling us inside. I set the umbrella by the door, letting the magic surrounding my husband and I drop away.

"How did the girls do?" Baz asks, tugging off his shoes and setting down the girls' coats. Micah walks in, also wearing pyjama trousers, with a tired "hello". Penny leads us into the sitting room, picking up a cup of coffee.

"They were just fine. Lulu and Kieran fell asleep right away, but I had to tell Natasha and Eavan to get to sleep at midnight." I laugh lightly, wandering into the kitchen to look for more food. Penny watches me go, rolling her eyes.

"Eavie and Tasha are some pair-- Simon, we literally _just_ ate breakfast." Baz breaks off in the middle of his sentence to reprimand me as I steal the last of the Bunces' digestives. I cross my arms, still holding the nearly-empty packet.

"I know. I'm still hungry," I reply, shoving another biscuit into my mouth. It would taste better with tea, but the soft, crumbly cookie and the sweet chocolate melt deliciously against my tongue. Aleister Crowley, I fucking love digestives.

Baz is trying not to laugh, but manages a fantastic eye-roll.

"You are an actual void, Si," He teases. I wink at him before focusing my attention back on my biscuits.

"You know it, darling mine." Penny shakes her head, also attempting to hide a smile.

"Do you have pica? I've always wondered if you have pica," She deadpans.

"I do not have _Micah_ , you have Micah. He's a nice bloke but I like mine better," I reply, playing dumb. Penny throws up her hands in resignation, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Knob," She mutters.

"Wanker," I shoot back, grinning.

"Bap! Minnie!" Calls our three-year-old's voice from the top of the stairs. Baz and I turn as little feet thunder down the stairs. Lulu bounds over to us, launching herself into Baz's arms. He smiles, kissing the top of her head through her wild tangle of dark hair.

"Hello, love. Did you have fun?" He asks. I go over to them, and Lulu releases her hold on Baz to jump into my arms. I start trying to smooth her hair without pulling it and upsetting her (it's a delicate task, believe me).

"Yes!" She says happily. I kiss her cheek, smiling.

"Where's your sister, sweet?" I ask. Behind me, I hear Kieran coming down the stairs, his footsteps too light and stumbling to belong to either of the older girls. Lulu giggles, little fist coming up to rub at her sleepy dark eyes.

"She's upstairs with Eavie. _They're hiding_ ," She whispers the last bit in my ear, loud enough for everyone to hear. Baz smiles, reaching to take her from my arms. I hand her over, and her hands tangle themselves in Baz's hair, just like they used to when she was a baby. It's become her 'I'm exceedingly tired but want to stay with dad' habit, and it's freaking adorable.

"Let's go get your sister and your bag, then," Baz tells her. The sleepy little girl nods, resting her chin on Baz's shoulder. They look so much alike, even I forget that they're not actually related. Maybe it's just mannerisms picked up from us that make the girls resemble us.

Baz and Lulu head up the stairs to collect Tasha, and I stay in the sitting room with Penny and Micah. Micah's fallen back asleep, leaning back in the couch. Penny sits beside him, arm around his shoulder.

"Thanks for watching them, Pen. You know how much they love you two," I tell her. Penny smiles, resting her head against her sleeping husband's.

"And you know how much I love watching them. We should get a nanny for the four of them sometime and all go out to eat somewhere that doesn't give out bendy straws," She replies. I laugh, settling down into a plush armchair.

"I _like_ bendy straws." Penelope grins, chucking a crayon at me from where one of her kids left it on the couch.

"You know what I meant, you idiot," she teases. I throw the crayon back at her, but she manages to swat it away before it hits her.

"Yes, I do, and that sounds wonderful. What did you two end up doing last night?" Penny shrugs.

"Put the kids to bed. Watched a horror movie. It was nice, actually. Your kids are calming influences on ours, so it was the first quiet evening we've had in a while." I chuckle, tucking my legs underneath me and settling more comfortably into the chair.

"Well, anytime you two need your kids to shut up or want the house to yourselves, just bring Kieran and Eavie by. I think they like our house because our couch is good for making forts out of," I assure her. Penny grins.

"Is that it? I was wondering why they liked going over there so much. Hell, that's why _I_ like your house, Simon."

Baz comes down the stairs, still carrying Lulu and holding the hand of an equally tired-looking Tasha. Eavie tromps down the stairs behind him, looking tired but like she's trying not to be.

"Why do you like our house, Bunce?" He asks. I stand up, going over to scoop up our five-year-old.

"Hi, Minnie," She says sleepily, wrapping her arms around my neck. I kiss her, grabbing her bag from Baz.

"Hello, lovely girl," I reply. Then, turning to Baz, I answer his question, "Because she likes making pillow forts out of our sofa cushions." Baz nods as if this is a completely sensical thing for adults to discuss.

"I've got to say, Bunce, I agree with you." Penny grins, standing up.

"See? I know what I'm talking about, Simon." I laugh, grabbing Natasha's coat and putting it on her before wrapping her scarf around her head.

"Never said you didn't, Pen. I just didn't realise how many people loved making forts out of our couch. See you at your mum's for tea?" Penny nods, reaching around Tasha to give me a hug.

"Yeah. Stay dry out there-- the weather's a right mess."

"Thanks, Pen, see you."

"See ya, Simon. Bye, Natasha, bye Lulu!" The girls wave goodbye to their godmother, and Baz tousles Penny's hair.

"Bye, Bunce. See you for tea."

We make our way back to the car, the wind making a funny howling noise against the magical weather-shield I've put up around us again. The car feels wonderfully warm compared to the howling storm outside. Baz, however, grips the wheel as a shudder runs through him. Brow furrowing, I turn to look at him, one hand finding his. His face is dark, closed off in a way it hasn't been in a decade.

"You okay?" I ask, squeezing his hand. His teeth dig into his lower lip, and I release his hand to brush my thumb along his chin.

"I used to like storms until that stupid Enenra kidnapped me in one," He mutters, shoulders tense. With a sigh, I take his hand again, interlacing our fingers. This is a conversation we have often-- whenever one of us feels like the nightmares that plague us are creeping into our daytime lives.

"I know, love. But that's over now. I'm here. Our girls are here. We're not gonna let anything touch you." I squeeze my husband's hand, feeling his ring, cold and smooth, against my fingers. Maybe it's nothing more than a thin band of metal, but the feeling of it has become comforting.

"Bap, what's a Nenra?" Yawns a half-asleep Tasha from the backseat. Baz glances back through the mirror at her.

"We'll tell you when you're older, little bug. It's too scary." Her little head nods as she drops off to sleep against her sister's shoulder.

"M'not scared..." She slurs sleepily. Baz and I smile, exchanging a look.

"We know you're not. You're very brave, Tasha," I say. It's Baz, this time, who squeezes our entwined hands.

"I am brave..." Comes the soft confirmation from the backseat.

"The bravest little girl around," Baz promises her. Natasha falls asleep with a smile on her face. When she does, I turn back to Baz, keeping my voice down so I don't wake the kids.

"You're brave, too, you know," I tell him. Baz lifts our joined hands briefly to his lips.

"I don't _feel_ brave. Not on days like this," He whispers. The glow of a stoplight through the rain turns his face and hair bright crimson. I lean in to kiss his cheek again.

"Basilton, you are the bravest person I've ever known. Courageous fuck, remember?" Baz grins, glancing at me before the light turns green.

"An absolute nightmare," he agrees. This has become our reminder to one another, over the years, that we are stronger than we feel, on bad days.

"I love you, Basilton Grimm-Pitch." Aleister Crowley, I'll never get tired of saying those words.

Baz's smile looks calmer, less panicked, when he says,

"And I love you, Simon Grimm-Pitch. So damn much."

We drive the rest of the way home, hand in hand in the dark, warm silence of our car.


	12. Simon.

We carry the girls into the house, setting their things down and collectively taking off our shoes and coats in the mudroom. Then we trudge into the living room, setting the girls on the floor to play with the toys scattered all around the carpet (or to sleep). Lulu can barely keep her eyes open, and she keeps swaying where she sits. My own eyelids droop a little-- Baz and I really didn't get much sleep at all last night, and my plans for sleeping in this morning got waylaid ( _not_ that I'm complaining in the slightest).

I sit down on one end of the couch, tilting my head back and closing my weary eyes. Baz comes over and stretches out, his legs across mine and his head on the armrest at the other end of the couch.

" _Crowley_ I'm tired," He murmurs. "You're exhausting, Si." I grin sleepily, flicking his leg.

"Right back at you, Basilton. I'm gonna sleep for a month." A soft, indolent chuckle from his end of the couch.

"The best idea you've had in years," He teases. I laugh, opening one eye to look at him.

"Thanks very much. I'm rather proud of it."

Out of the corner of my vision, I watch Lulu toddle towards us, her short legs stumbling tiredly, chubby hands rubbing at her half-mast eyes. When she gets to the couch, she tugs on Baz's hair to get his attention. Pearl grey eyes, as pretty as they were the very first time I saw them, open to look at her.

"Hello, love," says Baz. Lulu, still rubbing her eyes with one hand, raises the other one towards him.

"Bap I wanna hold you," She slurs drowsily. Baz smiles, rolling over slightly to pick her up. She rests her little dark head on his chest, eyes closing. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips; I have a photograph of them doing the exact same thing when Lulu was just a baby. In both instances, the two of them look utterly peaceful as they drift off to sleep.

I feel a little hand tug at mine, and look down to see Tasha standing in front of me. Long, dark eyelashes flutter against her rosy cheeks as she, like her sister and Baz, tries to stay awake. Smiling, I lean down over Baz's jean-clad legs to tuck her wild, sleep-tangled dark hair behind her ears.

"Do you want up, too, little bug?" I ask. Tasha nods, and it makes me sad to think that someday they'll be too big to do this. Too old, too mature, too independent to take naps with their dads. As sad as it may be, the prospect of getting to watch them grow up-- changing from our little girls to young women, maybe having kids of their own someday-- sends a thrill of happy anticipation through me.

I lift Tasha onto my lap, on top of Baz's legs. She rests her chin on my shoulder and I smooth back her hair, holding her close, feeling her breath on my neck slow down and deepen as she, too, drifts off to sleep. My own consciousness starts to slip and slide, and I know that I'll sleep soon as well.

As I drift off, I'm struck by just how happy I am. This may not be the life I would ever have imagined for myself, back at Watford, back in the days before Baz, but I truly could not have asked for a better one. Because against all odds, I managed to defeat the Humdrum. I managed to fall in love. I managed to carry on. Because this-- falling asleep in my living room, surrounded by the people I love most in this world, after an amazing night with the husband of my dreams-- _this_ is what true happiness is.

And you know, I've always been just a bit confused at what Churchill really meant when he said 'Keep calm and carry on', because it is such a multifaceted quote. He was telling the people to sally forth and survive the war, but I never realised that he wasn't just encouraging tenacity. No, he was telling people to Carry On, because better and brighter things are always there to catch you if you fall. He was telling people to push through all the bad, all of the shit that life threw their way, and to Carry On with their chins held high, and to know in their hearts that tomorrow would bring a better day.

I've done my best to Carry On, despite everything. Despite being the Chosen One and an Ex-Supervillain and sexually confused and riddled with nightmares, I've truly done my best.

And I've been given the best reward possible for that.

A beautiful house, my best friend only a few minutes away.

Two adorable children who love me very much.

And a grey-eyed Vampire, asleep on my couch.

I've learned to Carry On. And I couldn't be happier.

**_The End._ **


End file.
